


Sober Man Out

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Don't worry Gladio is Responsible, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9153559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Gladio, being one of the few responsible drinkers in his friend group, is tasked with making sure his seriously trashed companions get home safe. Set pre-game, while the crew is still in Insomnia.(started as a fill for the kinkmeme re: drunken confessions)





	1. Prompto

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was initially just for a very drunken Prompto confession, but now everyone gets to confess to Gladio. Everyone. Edited it a bit to make the story flow a bit better.
> 
> (just a heads up, alcohol + sex is something I can't write, personally, so this is just going to be a series of increasingly awkward situations that Gladio suffers through as The Responsible Friend.)

Gladiolus Amicitia walked down the side streets of Insomnia, carrying a gangly, drunken, wriggling twenty year-old man-child in his arms.

This is what happens, he decided, when you have a tendency to fall for small, hyperactive blondes with no tolerance for alcohol. You go out with your friends, you have a drink, maybe two, and then you watch as the guy you’ve been quietly eyeing for months downs six shots at once and falls off the table in the middle of a song titled “Fever” at 3am. And because Gladio had the urge to take care of his friends pretty much etched into his genes, it fell to him to take Prompto home.

“Your arms are enormous,” Prompto said, his voice muffled against Gladio’s chest. He swiped a hand on his right bicep for emphasis, but couldn’t quite keep his grip. “Did you know, Gladio?” The look he gave him was almost brimming with tears, urgent with the need to communicate this pivotal fact. “Did you know how big your arms are?”

“Sure, Prompto,” Gladio said. He repositioned his grip on the blonde, making sure his legs didn’t slip out of his hold. 

“Good,” Prompto whispered, staring into his eyes. “You should be proud of them.” 

Gladio had nothing to say to that. He stopped at the gate to a small first floor apartment with a tiny, handwritten placard over the mailbox: Argentum. Prompto _lived_ here? The whole building could probably fit in Gladio’s kitchen. He navigated around the gate and stopped at the door. No keypad, no DNA recognition software. Just an ordinary lock.

“Prom, do you have your keys on you?”

“Yes!” Prompto flopped out of Gladio’s arms, dropping to his hands and knees on the front path. “Oh. Ohhh, my dude. Something is wrong with my legs.” 

Gladio sighed and bent down to lift Prompto up around the shoulders. “The keys, Prompto.”

“They’re in my pocket.”

There was a long silence. Prompto stared into Gladio’s eyes with the singular focus of a laser.

“Are you going to get them?” Gladio asked.

“I want to kiss your _face,_ ” said Prompto. 

“O-kay.” Gladio sighed and slid his hand into Prompto’s pocket, coming back with a folded bill and a house key. He opened the front door with one hand, and gently heaved Prompto across the threshold.

The house was very… dark. It had a strange, musty smell, too, as though the doors and windows were never left open for very long. Technically, Gladio had done the bare minimum that any friend would do in this situation—see Prompto home and drop him off at the foyer. Except Prompto was, at this point in time, slowly collapsing onto the floor as he tried and failed to remove his boots with one hand.

Gladio stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him.

“My boots are misbehaving,” Prompto said, laughing as he fell face-first onto the wooden floor. “I have been. I have been de-feeted.”

Gladio sighed and crouched on his ankles. He quickly removed Prompto’s boots, all the while very aware that his friend was yet again fixing him with that hyper-focused stare. 

“I told you about your arms,” Prompto said, suddenly. Gladio nodded. “I bet. I bet that’s not the only thing that’s… bigger than normal. If you know what I…” Prompto trailed off, his face pressed to the floor. 

Really, Gladio thought, as Prompto writhed in hysterical laughter at the foot of the door. Something about attraction must drive a person out of their ability to reason. Because he shouldn’t find anything remotely appealing about the disheveled, sweaty, giggling mess on the floor—except... Even when Prompto was making terrible puns and pushing his face to the ground, Gladio couldn’t help but feel… fond. 

“This is bad,” he said, under his breath.

Prompto jumped up at that. “No,” he said, grabbing Gladio’s leg in both hands. “Don’t say that. You are very good. You are a. A very good Gladio.” He patted his thighs like one would a pet. “The best Gladio.”

“Thanks, Prompto. Next time I’m feeling down, I’ll remember you said that.”

Prompto beamed. 

Getting his friend to bed proved to be a feat and a half. Prompto squirmed. He lunged for the walls. He lunged for Gladio. Sometimes, he lunged for Gladio and ended up on the wall anyways. And about halfway down the hall towards the bedroom, Gladio became suddenly, painfully aware that Prompto's gaze was becoming a bit too... heated... for comfort.

“Are you taking me to bed?” Prompto whispered, grasping at his jacket with fumbling hands. Gladio gently pushed them away.

“Not like that, Prompto.”

“No,” Prompto agreed. “Never take me to bed like that.” Gladio felt a weight drop in his stomach for all of one moment before his friend followed up with that intense stare and a throaty gasp of, “You. Should take me to bed. And fucking _wreck_ me.”

Gladio made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m serious,” Prompto said. “Just. Into the bed. On the floor. All night fucking. I know,” he said, with all the certainty of too many shots and a dose of confidence, “that you. Have the best. Cock. I’ve _never_ seen.”

“Not tonight,” Gladio managed to say. 

“Tomorrow, then.” Prompto fell back against the bedroom door. “Wreck me tomorrow.”

“Okay, Prompto.” Gladio had to think about this. No, no, he _didn’t_ have to think about this. He didn’t have to think about any of this. He definitely didn’t have to think about Prompto. 

“Home, sweet, home,” Gladio said, in a desperate bid to drown out his own self-destructing brain. He grabbed Prompto by the shirt to keep him from falling over, and opened the bedroom door. 

By the time he managed to deposit Prompto on the bed, the blonde was practically begging.

“I promise,” he said. “I can take it. I can take all of it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Gladio said, retreating to the door.

“I don’t have a gag reflex,” Prompto said, cheerfully, when Gladio came back a minute later with water.

“That’s very nice, Prom.” 

Gladio pushed the glass of water into his friend’s unresisting hands. 

“I’m naturally talented,” Prompto said, lifting the glass and missing his mouth entirely.

“And I have an amazing ass,” he pointed out, as Gladio helped him take off the water-drenched shirt. “Noct says so, and he’s the prince, so he should know. You should take a look. Here, Gladio, take a look at my—”

“Maybe tomorrow, Prom,” Gladio said. He turned out the light and escaped into the blissful safety of the hallway. Then he closed the bedroom door behind him, slid to the floor, covered his face with his hands, and wished to all the Six that the earth would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.


	2. Noctis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noct goes bar hopping. Gladio drags him home.

“Wait for me here,” Gladio said to his driver, as they pulled into a parking space outside of the crowded market district of Insomnia. “I won’t be long.”

“No problem, boss.” The driver pulled out his phone. “You bring the prince back alive, I’ll get y’all home.”

“Good man.” Gladio tapped the top of the car door twice and climbed out, peering into the haze of Insomnia’s most notorious bar crawl.

It was pretty easy to find Noct. When the prince did make his rare escape from under Gladio’s watchful eye, he stuck to places with crowds, where it was easy to sit in a corner and get lost in the press of bodies. There were only a few bars that were suitably busy enough for his tastes, and Gladio bore through them, seeking out every hidden booth and tucked-away corner. He eventually found the prince sitting at a low bench in the back of a bar, talking animatedly to a young woman with bright green hair.

That was odd. Usually, he never put himself out there enough to talk to anyone. Gladio could hear Noct’s voice, a little louder than usual, as he approached from behind.

“But what if nothing is predestined?” the prince was saying to his companion, whose face was trained into the pained grimace of every girl who hadn’t come to the bar to get lectured by a stranger in leather pants. “What if there is no cosmic reason to what we do, and we only created prophecies and signs of divine intervention to put meaning into a meaningless universe? What if—“

“Easy on the nihilism, buddy,” Gladio said, placing a hand on Noct’s shoulder. Noct turned to look up at him with glassy eyes.

“Here’s fate,” he said, thickly, as his inner stubborn little shit tried to assert himself. “Gladio always knows how to find me.”

“I should go,” the girl said, easing off the bench. Gladio gave her a sympathetic half-smile, and she mouthed the words, _Thank you._ She hurried back to the other end of the bar with surprising speed, but Noct didn’t seem to notice.

“Sit down,” Noct said. “I was just talking to this girl about, about the stars, and prophecies, and… she’s not here anymore.” He tried to glare at Gladio, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he could barely keep his head up. “You need to stop scaring people away. You’re too attractive. It’s intimidating.”

Gladio raised his eyebrows. 

“You look like your dad when you do that,” Noct said, dropping his chin on his hands. “We all look like our dads. We _are_ our dads. When did we become our dads, Gladio? Are you going to shave your head again?” He slumped almost sideways on his arms. “Don’t shave your head. I don’t want to call you Clarus.”

“Okay,” Gladio said. “That’s enough.” He lifted Noctis bodily from the bench with very little resistance. Not a good sign. “How many drinks did you have, Noct?”

“Not enough. Let’s go to the Mistaken Moogle, they have half-off ‘til midnight—“

“It’s two in the morning, your highness. Come on.” 

He managed to drag them both out of the bar and onto the street, where Noct broke away from him and staggered to a path looking over one of the residential areas. The prince draped himself over the railing, squinting up at the flickering magical barrier over Insomnia.

“It looks like a sunset,” he said. “Underwater. How does Dad do it?” He grabbed Gladio by the arm and tried to drag him down, which had about as much effect as a kitten trying to take out a brick wall. “How does he make it so… beautiful?”

“We should probably take you home, Noct.”

“You’re always looking after me,” Noct said, turning to press his forehead onto Gladio’s chest. “I don’t deserve you.” 

At which point the crown prince of Lucis burst into tears.

Gladio tried to ignore the mess Noct was making on his tank top, and patted his friend’s head absently. He hadn’t been this bad off in a while, not since a memorable night three months back, when Gladio had found him a red-faced, incoherent mess, sobbing all over a very bewildered Prompto at a fried dough stand because “How do they make them into such tiny shapes, Prompto? They’re _artisans,_ Prompto!” He gently tried to shift Noct so that he could support him by the shoulders.

“You’re the best friend a man could ever have,” Noct sobbed. 

“Thanks, Noct. I’ll need a raise.”

Nothing. Not even a smirk. Gladio helped walk him towards the car, which was thankfully closer than he’d remembered. He could already see the driver playing on his phone in the front seat.

“You’re so dependable,” Noct said at his side. Tears streamed down his face. “Like a rock. A buff, intelligent rock.”

“Very flattering, Noct.” Gladio somehow managed to march him the rest of the way, and opened the backseat of the car. Noct fell in, legs dangling over the edge of the door. Gladio kicked the soles of his shoes, and Noct groaned, practically oozing to the far seat. Gladio squeezed in next to him and tapped on the connecting glass with his knuckles to alert the driver.

“It’s a shame,” Noct mumbled, as the car roared to life. His face was pushed up against the window-rest, and he blinked out into the city beyond.

“What’s a shame?”

Noct sighed. “We’ll never be able to sleep together,” he said, in a wistful voice. “It’d be too weird, with our parents being married.”

Gladio had to take a minute to process this.

“Noct,” he said, slowly. “Our dads aren’t married.”

Noct turned towards him with a withering glare that almost looked like him at his most sober. “Gladio.” He placed a hand on Gladio’s cheek, the other on his arm. “Don’t lie… to yourself.” 

The prince stared at him with deep, earnest, tear-worn eyes for nearly a full minute, before leaning down to vomit on his shoes.

“Right,” said Gladio, as Noct heaved at his knees. “You’d know best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noct is a pretty mellow drinker up until he has one too many, at which point he becomes That Guy who cries on everyone and makes impassioned speeches about friendship.


	3. Ignis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis. Ignis, no.

Gladio stood in the corner of one of the larger reception halls at the palace, sipping from a glass of sparkling grape juice and trying not to look too bored.

He, Noctis, and Ignis had all been invited to some sort of salon run by an elder member of the court. She had taken a particular liking to Noct and Ignis, for some reason, and because Gladio had nothing better to do tonight, he'd been dragged along under protest. The elder woman in question was a bit of a firecracker: She practically shone in a brilliant white gown, and stubbornly wore her hair in a fashion that had been popular well before Gladio was born. Some people said she kept it up with a sort of wire cage, but Gladio had never ventured close enough to look.

She monopolized Ignis for most of the night, complimenting him on his suit (a painful black and purple monstrosity, in Gladio’s opinion), which she had apparently commissioned for him. Ignis was his usual smiling, gracious self, but Gladio noticed that he did keep lunging for the drinks tray whenever it passed. 

When the woman finally turned her attentions to Noct, Gladio sidled up to Ignis and nudged his shoulder.

“Doing okay, there, Iggy?”

“Oh.” Ignis tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Gladio. Yes, of course.” He rose from his seat on the settee, and slowly straightened. His face twisted in a grimace. 

“What?” Gladio asked.

Ignis sighed. “I believe I may have had one too many flutes of champagne,” he said. “I think I shall retire for the night.”

“You’ll be alright on your own?” Gladio asked, reflexively. Ignis gave him a steady, knowing look. 

“No need to look after _me,_ Gladio.” He waved his fingers in farewell, and deliberately began making his way to the door.

Gladio sighed in relief. Good to know that Ignis, at least, wouldn’t need his hand held. While he’d certainly had one or two—interesting experiences—with alcohol, it seemed that Ignis had learned from those and never went beyond his limits. Gladio set his drink down on an empty tray and searched for a secluded corner where he could text Iris the details of the party. She was always interested in bits of drama, political or otherwise, that could be picked up in these settings, and Gladio enjoyed sharing insights and theories with her. The court would really be in for it when _she_ was allowed to attend these events.

He’d only managed to type half a sentence when his phone started to buzz. He wove his way into the hall, making quiet excuses, and turned on the call button.

“Gladio.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” It was Ignis. “I may be in a spot of trouble.”

Gladio leaned against the wall. Of course. “What is it, Iggy?”

“I… I’m not entirely sure where I am.”

This was new. Ignis, lost in the palace? He must have had more champagne than he’d thought. Gladio started off in the direction he’d seen Ignis take when he left the party. “What do you see in the room you’re in now?”

“Ah. A painting of a woman on a crab shell?”

Gladio grunted. “Reading room. Right, I know where that is. Stay where you are, and I’ll get you. And stay on the line.”

“I’m perfectly capable of finding my way back from here,” Ignis said, “Now that I know where I am.”

“No, you aren’t. Stay where you are.”

A minute later, Gladio made his way into the reading room. It was empty.

“Ignis, I swear to the Six.”

“Apologies,” Ignis said. He sounded a little muffled. “I’m in a hallway now. I _think_ I know where I am, except… the hallways all look the same, don’t they….”

Gladio groaned. “Just find a room and stay there, Iggy. Did you turn right, or left after leaving the reading room?”

“Left.” Ignis was silent for a moment. “It’s a bit hot in the palace these days, isn’t it?” he said. Gladio picked up speed. He knew where this was going.

“Don’t think about it, Ignis.”

“Rather sultry.”

“Ignis, no.” There was a silence over the line. “Ignis, you’d better not be taking off your shirt in the middle of the _fucking_ palace—“

“Language, Gladio!” Gladio bit the inside of his cheek and prayed to any of the Astrals who could listen that he would not find a naked prince’s advisor running through the halls.

“Ignis, put your shirt back on and tell me where you are.”

“You can’t tell _me_ to put _my_ shirt on, you filthy hypocrite,” Ignis said, in an altogether too cheerful tone. “Besides, I think you’d _like_ the view.”

Gladio paused for a moment to take this in. “Do you see any paintings near you?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Ignis. Paintings.”

He heard a heavy sigh. “If you insist. No paintings at all, Gladio. Just some urns with a… oh, there’s a hilarious little fawn on here, chasing a walking tree. How strange, it’s like I’ve seen it before.”

Gladio started to run.

“And look, there’s this unusual statuette of a woman wearing very little clothing—ha, much like some _other_ person in this room I could name—“

“Ignis, get out of there. Now. Find your shirt and put it on.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Gladio. There’s—Someone’s here.”

Gladio hit the wall when he turned the corner, and used the momentum to push off and keep running. If he was right, Ignis was currently shirtless (hopefully, _only_ shirtless) in what Gladio _knew_ was one of King Regis’ private audience chambers. And now, he wasn’t alone.

“Ignis,” he panted. “Ignis, can you get out of there?”

“Not now,” Ignis said, in a tight sort of voice. The call went dead. Well, this was turning into a great night. A wonderful night. The kind of night that Gladio would mark down in his journal as being one he would prefer to _burn right to the ground._

Unfortunately, he had miscalculated how quickly one could make it to the audience chambers while under the unique terror that only a drunk, shirtless friend can inspire. He skidded to an uneasy halt right in the middle of the doorway, shoes making a high pitched squeal as he tried not to slam into the door frame.

At the far end of the room, King Regis, a number of members of his Council, and Gladio’s father, Clarus Amicitia, looked up.

Closer to Gladio, hidden by a large, decorative urn with fawns on it, a shirtless Ignis stared at Gladio like he was the last glass of water in a sweltering desert.

“Gladiolus,” said his father. There was the slightest crease between his brows, a tightness around his eyes, that Gladio recognized as a warning. “What brings you here? Did something happen to the prince?”

Gladio forced himself to not look at the decorative urn. “No, sir. I… believe I left something here. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“Not at all,” said the King, at the same time his father said, “A Shield does not run without good reason, Gladiolus. Control yourself.”

“I understand, sir,” Gladio said. He knew that his father spoke harshly due to embarrassment, but the words stung. The kindness in the King’s eyes when he looked at Gladio was worse.

“You won’t be in the way, son,” the King said, gesturing for him to enter. “I’m certain whatever you’ve lost is close by.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Gladio said. “I’m sure it is.” To his left, Ignis had both his hands to his face, a picture of horror in purple silk and bare shoulders.

There was an expectant silence as Gladio tried to judge how he could escape without drawing attention, then come back later to retrieve Ignis after the King and his retinue had left. But what if they left through this door? They’d walk right past Ignis, and he’d be exposed. More than he was already, at least. Unfortunately, most of the Council were watching him, the King with polite amusement, his father with a faint frown. There was no excuse he could make that would convince them all.

He was about to give up and try to make a break for it, when his father leaned in to whisper in the King’s ear. The King raised his eyebrows and nodded, and Gladio’s father turned to the other Council members.

“I’m very sorry, but would you be gracious enough to allow me a moment to speak with my unruly son?”

“Clarus,” the King said, in an admonishing tone. 

“If I could beg your indulgence in this matter, please.”

“Of course, old friend.” The King nodded to the other members of the Council. “This way, now. Clarus, do go easy on him, for my sake.”

“With respect,” Gladio’s father said, his face stern, “that is for me to decide.”

Gladio stood at attention, watching as the King and the rest of the Council filed into the adjoining room in the back, casting Clarus looks of confusion or mild disapproval in turn. Neither Amicitia paid them any mind, their gazes locked firmly on each other until the door clicked shut.

Clarus sighed, and the furrows in his brow smoothed, the hard line of his mouth softening. “Very well, Gladio,” he said, stepping forward. “Who is that you have trembling behind the urn?”

Ignis let out a groan of despair, and Gladio’s father ran a hand over his mouth to suppress a smile. 

“Ignis, come out,” Gladio said. Ignis stood, watching Clarus’ approach with something verging on dread.

“Thank the Six, at least he’s mostly clothed,” Clarus said. He stopped before Gladio and laid a hand on his shoulder. “If I told you of some of the states I found Cid in during his time here… Let’s just say we had to make creative use of some peonies and a windowbox once. The Queen never did forgive us.” He smiled down on his son. “Didn’t shake you, did I?”

“No,” Gladio lied. “Of course not.”

“Good.” He looked from Gladio to Ignis and nodded. “Next time, try not to look so panicked, son. Act like you’re meant to be here, and no one will question it. I’ll see you at dinner this weekend?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gladio and Ignis watched Clarus smoothly walk back across the room and slip through the door, where the Council and the King were waiting.

“Did he say…” Ignis swallowed. “Did he say peonies?”

“I’d rather not think about that one too hard, Iggy,” Gladio said.

“So,” Ignis said, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest. “Any chance we could never mention this again?”

Gladio grinned, all teeth and wicked humor. “Oh, Ignis. Not in _this_ lifetime.”


	4. Gladio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Gladio's turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, this was so hard to finish for some reason. I guess drunk Gladio doesn't come to me as easily as the other chocobros.

The night had started out innocently enough. Ignis, Noct, and Prompto had all gathered in Noct’s apartment for a game of King’s Knight, waiting for Gladio to arrive, when all three of their phones buzzed at once.

Ignis squinted, drawing his phone close to his nose. Noct turned his phone to the side, then back upright again. Prompto tried to change the light settings. 

“What do you think it is?” Noct asked.

“A wall?” Prompto held the phone against the overhead light. “A wall with like, a curve in it?”

“Art piece, maybe,” said Ignis.

There was another pause.

“Ok, but why would Gladio send us all a picture of a wall?” Noct asked.

Their phones buzzed again. They all looked down at the message that had appeared in their group text.

 

WHAT YOU  
R NOT  
GETNTINEGN

 

“Get-net-tin-egn?” Prompto asked.

“Wait.” Noct set down his phone. “No. No, you guys. That wasn’t a wall. Ignis, that wasn’t a wall.”

“Noct, calm down.” 

Noct looked from Ignis to Prompto expectantly. “That,” he said, “is Gladio’s ass.”

Both of his friends scrabbled for their phones. There was another long, long examination of the photo in the chat. Ignis made a soft choking sound.

Then their phones all buzzed again. All three men let out mingled cries of horror, shock, and delight.

“Oh no,” Ignis said. “We have to stop him.”

“No!” Noct cried. “We can’t! This is enough blackmail material for years, Ignis.”

“Kind of normal-sized, though,” said Prompto, looking at the new picture critically. “I thought he’d be bigger.”

Another message popped up on their phones.

 

DEFININININTELY  
NOT  
GETTING  
THIS

 

“Noct,” Ignis said, setting his phone down with an audible click. “Your Shield is somewhere out there, right now, possibly divested of his pants. It is our duty to find him and—“

He paused.

“Go on,” Noct said, grinning wide. “Finish what you started.”

Ignis stood. “I _mean_ we must stop him before he causes a scene.”

It was at this point that someone knocked on the door. Prompto jumped up, dropping his phone. Noct’s eyes shined with the light of one who just learned that all mornings had been cancelled for the foreseeable future. Ignis sighed. When Prompto finally eased open the door, a large, tattooed arm shot out to open it all the way.

Gladio stood there, shirtless, gazing down at his friends with the righteous triumph of the truly shit-faced. 

“All of you,” he said, in a slow, deliberate voice, “are in for it now.”

Then, like the thunderous collapse of an iceberg in a summer thaw, Gladio fell to his face on Noct’s hardwood floor.

There was a heavy silence. 

“Has this…” Prompto stood over the prone form of their friend, nudging him with his bare foot. “Has this happened before?”

“Hardly,” Ignis said. “He’s Noct’s Shield—he can’t go around drinking on the job, can he? Something must have happened.” He looked at Prompto and Noct critically. They both gave him equal looks of bewildered innocence, and he shook his head. “Well, let’s at least roll him onto his side,” he said.

Gladio’s eyes snapped open.

“Prom,” he said. Prompto jumped. Gladio flopped onto his back, focusing on something about five inches to the left of Prompto’s face. “C’mere. Prompto. Prommo. Prom.”

“Alright, big guy,” Prompto said, kneeling down. “I’m right—“

Gladio grabbed his face in both hands.

“Lemme tell you something, Prompto,” he said. “One day, I’m gonna take that _amazing_ ass of yours—“

Noct made a squawking noise through his clenched fists.

“And when I do,” Gladio said, “I am gonna treat you like a fucking _gentleman._ ”

“Wh—Whatever you say, dude.” 

“I’m not a fucking _jackrabbit,_ Prompto.”

“No one’s saying you are,” said Noct, through spasms of choking laughter. Gladio released Prompto and tried to sit up, glaring daggers at the prince.

“Not like you’d know,” he said, darkly.

“Oh, dear,” whispered Ignis. Prompto sat back on his heels, looking a little dazed. 

“Not like you’d ever have the guts to admit you want it,” Gladio said. He lifted himself up by the arms for all of five seconds before collapsing again. “Well, you aren’t getting it. It’s a damn shame,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Because you’ll—“ Noct took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, “treat me like a gentleman?”

Gladio snorted. “Not even close.” 

“Maybe if we—“ Ignis began, but Gladio had turned to the advisor now.

“Don’t get me started, Mr. Rather Sultry In Here.”

Noct and Prompto looked at Ignis, who had suddenly gone several shades of pink at once.

"None of you deserve this," Gladio said, gesturing to his upper body with both hands. "I am a fucking _gift_ to you people, and none of you deserve this."

"You're right," Noct said, his voice a strangled gasp, "This _has_ been a gift."

"Come on, big guy," Prompto said. He patted Gladio on the bicep awkwardly. "Let's get you some... water?"

Ignis nodded. "And a blanket, I suppose. I don't think we can move him."

"No," mumbled Gladio. "I am a rock. A buff, intelligent rock."

They did manage to drag him to the couch at least, all the while nodding grimly to Gladio's insistent promise that he would remain _virginal as the fucking driven snow_ so long as they didn't _treat me right._ Noct had to stop three times to compose himself. Prompto kept trying to force him to drink water, and Noct lent him the blankets from his linen closet, while Ignis dug through the pantry for a headache cure. By the time Gladio finally drifted off, someone had uncovered a moogle plush from the depths of Noctis' closet and had tucked it into the crook of his arm. They all stared at him for a moment, thoughtful.

"So," Noct said, at last. "You guys know what that was all about?"

"Not a clue," said Prompto, quickly.

"Haven't the foggiest," said Ignis.

"Right." Noct leaned down and mussed Gladio's hair, absently. "Me, neither."


End file.
